


In Remembrance

by SecondSilk



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, F/F, Grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-13
Updated: 2010-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-10 13:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondSilk/pseuds/SecondSilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rolanda and Minerva have been waiting for different things. Now they have them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Remembrance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Archon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archon/gifts).



Minerva did not return to her office, to the headmistress's office, after the funeral. She discovered her reluctance when she found herself in an empty classroom on the second floor, two and a third hours after the funeral, looking for an ornament. Not any particular ornament, although she would have liked a short statue to stand on the left-hand bookcase, she was simply avoiding… anything. And when she discovered that, she had no idea what to keep doing.

Footsteps disturbed her not-thinking and she turned to wait for the interruption. The door was opened and Rolanda appeared, her prematurely grey hair as frazzled as ever and her yellow eyes as sharp. She didn't say anything.

Minerva raised an eyebrow. "Rolanda."

"Minerva," she replied warmly. She smiled.

Minerva's own smile was tired. "Shouldn't you call me Headmistress?" she said. Or even Professor McGonagall, as she had done for the previous twenty-three years. The sound of her own name had startled Minerva and in her discomfort she had become defensive.

"It was a nice eulogy you gave, Minerva," Rolanda said.

Her voice was gentle, but Minerva started. She turned her back on the other woman and took care to examine each of the dusty books sitting in their case in the corner. She couldn't remember the last time someone had called her by her name. They probably needed to inventory the whole school, and Madam Pince would be pleased to have new books, or old books returned. Filius and Pomona had avoided calling her anything at all, and just as she had avoided Horace.

"How long has it been?" Rolanda asked.

"Two and a half hours, four hours, three days," Minerva said, eyes closed and voice quiet. "Since what?" she demanded, sharper than she intended, not sharp enough to apologise. Rolanda ignored her tone of voice altogether.

"Since you began writing it," Rolanda insisted. "You've been teaching here for more than half your life. You've been Head of Gryffindor for almost thirty years, you've been Deputy Headmistress for almost twenty-five."

"Twenty-three," Minerva said.

"Twenty-three?"

"July Nineteen Seventy-three. James Potter was fourteen."

"Of course he was," Rolanda said, and Minerva could hear the gentle smile in her voice. She hadn't seen the smile for over two decades, and refused to let it tempt her now. She didn't turn around.

"You've been waiting a long time."

Minerva had to turn, had to level her carefully practiced withering glare at her friend. "I have not been waiting."

Rolanda didn't smile. Minerva felt the familiar cold wail of grief begin to rise through her chest and clenched her teeth against the tears.

"Of course you've been waiting," Rolanda said, her voice hard enough for Minerva to stand against. "Half your life you've worked for him, half your life a second in command, knowing that it would be you who replaced him, who would go one when he couldn't, for however long. However much you loved him and however well you thought of him, you knew he would die before you. And as much he loved and respected you, he prepared you for it. He was twice your age, Min; of course you were waiting."

Minerva would have sat, if she'd been standing near a chair, but the five paces to the nearest was too conspicuous a movement. Her bun was coming loose and she would need to retie it before she met with anyone important. She hadn't been called Min in years.

"I never wanted this," she said, teeth still clenched, and fingers digging into her palms.

Rolanda crossed the room to her, and Minerva couldn't draw away. She didn't even flinch when Rolanda took her hands and carefully smoothed them between her own the way she had done when they were both just teachers and had spent their evenings drinking Mandrake's Wine and laughing about Arthur Weasley's latest invention or Professor Dippet's mannerisms.

"Of course not," Rolanda said, her voice gentle again.

She smiled. Minerva felt the strain in her shoulders relax and smiled in return. Rolanda's eyes were yellow, and looking at Minerva without the distance she'd saw in so many old friends so suddenly.

She pulled a hand free and tried to retie her hair. Rolanda laughed and touched her cheek. Minerva closed her eyes and sighed. Rolanda's hands were warm, and she was never supposed to be a woman Minerva tried to impress. Minerva pressed her free hand to Rolanda's, where it lay against her cheek.

"I think you need a drink," Rolanda said.

Minerva chuckled. "Always your answer," she said.

"It is an accepted response to grief."

"I thought I was incapable of that, now," Minerva said, sounding sad instead of bitter. "Haven't I been waiting for this, Ro?" She asked, the use of the nickname a calculated chance.

"So have I," Rolanda said, the fingers of her free hand entangling with Minerva's. "Guilt is but a part of grief. The worst part, but only part. Remembering is what we do now."

"Like the time Professor Slughorn's fifth year class flooded the basements and Professor Dumbledore boated the Slytherins to dinner until it drained."

Rolanda chuckled. "Like that. Do you remember what the Headmaster said at Professor Dippet's funeral?"

"No."

"'We aren't gone until there is no one left who misses us, who remembers us, and wishes that for just a moment we could come back. Those left behind carry the duty of remembering and learning and going on.' Or something like that, he probably said it better."

"Probably," Minerva agreed, with a fond, distant smile.

Rolanda took half a step backwards, towards the door, trying to pull Minerva with her.

"Come, drink with me."

"How do I know this isn't just an elaborate plot to get me into bed?"

"What would be wrong with that?" Rolanda asked.

Minerva had no reply. She glanced once behind her to the case of books, before Rolanda pulled out of the room and into the still empty corridors of the school. She didn't particularly care where she was being led, and wasn't surprised to find herself in the Transfiguration office. She wasn't at all surprised to discover that they were going to drink her alcohol; it was certainly better than any in Rolanda's collection.

Minerva sank onto the couch, pulled her hair loose and leant her head against the cool upholstery. Rolanda moved confidently collecting glasses, bottles and the corkscrew. Minerva snorted. Only Ro would plan for drinking too much to perform a Summoning Charm.

The room at been empty of life for days and was cold, but the isolation was comforting. Minerva followed Rolanda's movements with half an eye. A bottle was opened, the wine poured, a glass pressed into her hand, and Rolanda took the seat beside her.

"To memory," she offered.

Minerva raised her glass. "Memory."

The clink of the glasses sounded loud in the darkened room.

"How long has it been since we did this?" Minerva asked.

"I haven't been counting," Rolanda said.

Minerva ignored the careful neutrality of her tone. She hadn't been counting either, because she'd always simply known.

"So we can start again, now?" she asked, pleased that her voice was not the careful in control tone she'd been practicing for Scrimgeour. Rolanda smiled at her.

"I'll drink to that," she said.


End file.
